ast thou left me on earth but him? Thou hast
made me loathe the sight of friends, for thou hast made me loathe mine
own name. Thou hast covered it with disgrace,--thou hast turned mine
old age into a by-word,--thy crimes leave me solitary in the midst of my
shame!"

"It is many years since we met, father; we may never meet again--shall
we part thus?"

"Thus, aha!" said the old man in a tone of withering sarcasm! "I
comprehend,--you are come for money!"

At this taunt the son started as if stung by a serpent; raised his head
to its full height, folded his arms, and replied:

"Sir, you wrong me: for more than twenty years I have maintained
myself--no matter how, but without taxing you;--and now, I felt remorse
for having suffered you to discard me,--now, when you are old and
helpless, and, I heard, blind: and you might want aid, even from your
poor good-for-nothing son. But I have done. Forget,--not my sins, but
this interview. Repeal your curse, father; I have enough on my head
without yours; and so--let the son at least bless the father who curses
him. Farewell!"

The speaker turned as he thus said, with a voice that trembled at the
close, and brushed rapidly by Philip, whom he did not, however, appear
to perceive; but Philip, by the last red beam of the sun, saw again that
marked storm-beaten face which it was difficult, once seen, to forget,
and recognised the stranger on whose breast he had slept the night of
his fatal visit to R----.

The old man's imperfect vision did not detect the departure of his son,
but his face changed and softened as the latter strode silently through
the rank grass.

"William!" he said at last, gently; "William!" and the tears rolled
down his furrowed cheeks; "my son!" but that son was gone--the old man
listened for reply--none came. "He has left me--poor William!--we shall
never meet again;" and he sank once more on the old tombstone, dumb,
rigid, motionless--an image of Time himself in his own domain of Graves.
The dog crept closer to his master, and licked his hand. Philip stood
for a moment in thoughtful silence: his exclamation of despair had been
answered as by his better angel. There was a being more miserable than
himself; and the Accursed would have envied the Bereaved!

The twilight had closed in; the earliest star--the star of Memory and
Love, the Hesperus hymned by every poet since the world began--was fair
in the arch of heaven, as Philip quitted the spot, with a spir